


hands all over

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Paint, F/M, Implied Minor Minty, Rave, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off tumblr headcanon post: "COLLEGE AU HEADCANON WHERE CLARKE AND BELLAMY ARE BOTH EXECUTIVE OFFICERS IN STUDENT GOVERNMENT ASSOCIATION AND THEY BICKER AND ARGUE ALL THE TIME ABOUT DECISIONS BUT ULTIMATELY DO A GOOD JOB AND ANYWAY THEY END UP HOOKING UP AT A PAINT RAVE THEY GOT THE SGA TO SPONSOR AND UGH JUST IMAGINE CLARKE AND BELLAMY HAVING HOT SHOWER SEX WHILE THEY WASH ALL THE PAINT OFF AND LIKE AFTER THAT THEY MUTUALLY DECIDE TO BE FUCK BUDDIES" by <i>commmanderblake</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. student government

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flirtingwithtrackers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/gifts).



> i am so sorry. but no, not really.

“Dammit, Bellamy! You can’t just throw these kind of things at me last minute!”

“Clarke,  _you_  were the one who was in charge of the budget. You should have figured out that we couldn’t afford to hire two bartenders!”

Clarke stomped her foot furiously and Bellamy rolled his eyes, scoffing in frustration.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Bellamy Blake! We have five organizations that have already accepted their invitations to this party. How do expect that we serve alcohol to a hundred and thirty people with only  _one_  bartender?”

Clarke had stepped forward, poking her finger into Bellamy’s chest.

Bellamy leered over her, “Why don’t  _you_  serve ‘em, Princess? I hear you make a  _dirty_  martini.”

Flaring her nose, Clarke breathed out sharply and dug her finger in one last time before stepping back. “I have a friend who owes me a favor, I’ll take care of it,” she said caustically.

Clarke grabbed her bag from the floor and hauled it over her shoulder, LSAT prep books weighing her down. Law School was the whole reason she’d gotten involved with the Student Government Association in the first place, and everything was fine and dandy until the day Bellamy Blake transferred from the University of Virginia and peed over everything that was Clarke Griffin’s success. 

His dumb charismatic charm had won over all the SGA ladies and Bellamy ended up on the executive committee with Clarke, much to her demise. Their faculty  _sponsor,_ Mr. Kane, had insisted that they team up to be in charge of the big Spring event that SGA held each year, despite days of Clarke begging to do it on her own.

_“I don’t need his help, Professor. He’s just going to end up flirting with the entire decorations committee, picking a dumb song list for the DJ, and being an overall pain in my ass!”  
_

_“Such is life, Ms. Griffin,” Mr. Kane said simply. “You and Mr. Blake will oversee this event together, otherwise, I withdraw my support and you’ll be left without a positive recommendation for Harvard.”_

Clarke needed Kane’s recommendation if she wanted to get her application finished in time for early admittance. She had everything planned out. She was set to graduate a semester early, in December, then spend her Spring semester backpacking through Europe before heading off to Law School next fall. 

“Don’t forget to tell Reyes that Wick is  _not_  allowed to play Mumford & Sons tonight, it’s a  _rave_.”

Clarke wave a hand dismissively and retreated from the classroom that they’d been meeting in every day for the last three weeks. To  ~~everyone’s~~  no one’s surprise, Bellamy and Clarke made a bad ass team: Clarke was efficient, logical, clinical; Bellamy saw the big picture, understood the people and the feel of things. Together they got shit done, but not without biting each other’s heads off at every turn.

Clarke promised herself that tonight she wouldn’t let the self-entitled asshole ruin what could be the best party of her college career. 

* * *

 

The music was loud and the air was heavy with sweat and alcohol, bodies grinding on each other in a tribal fashion. Clarke had wanted to throw a  _paint rave_  since she saw one on an episode of  _My Super-Sweet-Sixteen_  and she was finally getting her chance. 

Clarke showed up in a kind of risque pair of high-waisted shorts and an old crop top that she wore when working on her own artwork. She’d thrown her hair up in a messy bun that was already worse-for-wear as she made her way through the crowded room. 

After pulling the  _you-owe-me-one_  card on Monty, he’d showed up to work at the open bar with Bellamy’s roommate Nate and as far as Clarke could see... Monty might  _still_  owe her one. When she’d gone to get a drink, Monty had all but shooed her when she whispered  _“He’s cute, ask him for his number!”_

Before the night started, she’d taken her turn at the painter’s table, drawing intricate swirly designs over her abdomen and legs that would glow with the neon lights.  Now, two shots later, and a jack and coke in her hand, she worked the crowd of people. One girl pulled her flush against her, rolling her hips as a hand snaked around her middle, smearing new patterns of paint across the canvas of skin. 

A warm buzz overtook Clarke’s senses when she saw Bellamy wander in, stopping by the table at the entrance to prep himself. She turned to face the girl she was dancing with and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek before pulling away, body still swaying to the rhythm of the music. (She needed to remember to thank Raven later, Wick has actually a fairly awesome DJ.)

Approaching the desk she raised her voice, trying to speak above the heavy bass thrumming in her ears.

“Look who made it!”

“What?” Bellamy leaned closer, and Clarke could smell his aftershave. 

“I said,” Clarke brought her lips to his ear, “ _look who made it!_ ” 

Bellamy’s lips tugged upwards into a grin and his eyes raked over her body as he pulled back, “Yeah, I had to take care of a few things with Kane. You look different.”

Clarke looked down, feeling a flush creep onto her chest. (She was glad it was pretty dark, save the neon lights that illuminated her body.) “Yeah, well, it’s a rave, Bellamy Blake, and you’re far too clean for this. Let’s get you painted!”

He smirked and reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and Clarke felt her mouth go dry. She blamed it on the alcohol, of course, but then Bellamy just sort of handed her a small paint jar and gave her a  _look._

“What?” Clarke scrunched up her nose in confusion.

“Well, are you going to stand there or are you going to paint me?”

Clarke stood there baffled, “I, uh...”

Bellamy raised a challenging eyebrow at her and the next thing she knew, she was running her fingers, covered in cold, wet, paint along the hard planes of Bellamy’s body. (And she’s wasn’t freaking out about it, of course not, that’s absurd.)

He tensed beneath her touch, as the pads of her fingers danced across his skin. Bellamy felt his eyes drift downward where Clarke’s face was skewed in concentration, staring at his chest, and he took the opportunity to admire the exposed dip in her collarbone and the trail of orange paint that disappeared between her breasts.

A few minutes must have passed because Bellamy was jerked back to reality when Clarke finally spoke, “How’s that?” She finished a deep blue swirl trailing up over his shoulder and stepped back to review her handiwork.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked down between them, scanning the intricate design work that now cascading down his abdomen. “Uh, yeah, looks good. I’m going to get a drink.” He diverted his eyes from looking back at Clarke and found Miller on the other side of the room, practically running away to his roommate and the copious amount of alcohol that awaited him.

* * *

 

Clarke was left kind of jittery from the encounter and down the rest of her drink that she’d set aside to paint Bellamy and headed back to the dance floor. A half an hour and several dance partners later, Clarke found herself a little drunk and grinding on--  _Bellamy Blake?_  

Every inch of her was fire because his body  _radiated_  heat and his large hands were splayed out on her stomach while Clarke reached back and hooked one hand around the nape of his neck, dragging his face close enough to hers that she she felt his breath, panting in her ear. Their hips swayed together with the heavy bass pounding through the speakers, and Clarke closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt back against Bellamy.

The dance floor had several stations around it with jars of paint for people to play with, and eventually, Clarke found herself with streaks of purple up her thigh, light blue x’s drawn over each breast, a splatter of green dusted across the bridge of her nose and a large red hand print settled on her ass. She didn’t fail to notice the patch of red paint smeared on Bellamy’s pants that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago.

She twisted to face in and leaned up on her toes, “I need a drink!”

Bellamy nodded and placed a hand at the small of her back, leading her towards the bar. Monty got them both a shot of whisky that Clarke downed quickly, to Bellamy’s surprise. Leaning against the wall towards the back of the venue, Clarke found herself smiling warmly.

“What are you smiling about?”

Clarke shrugged, “This is one hell of a party. I guess you did okay.”

Bellamy gaped in mock distress, “Okay? Just  _okay?!”_

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Oh, before I forget, do you have the deposit from the venue that cancelled on us? That’s Miller’s cut.”

Bellamy frowned, “You said you were going to pick it up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!”

Clarke dragged herself from the wall, “Bellamy, I specifically asked you to do it because I had a meeting with my LSAT tutor yesterday and couldn’t make it to the venue before they closed. You were with the decoration committee, finishing up--  _ugh_ , this is  just so  _typical!_ ”

Bellamy scoffed, raising his voice, “Typical? Of course the campus  _princess_  can do no wrong, and everything that goes wrong is  _my_ fault.”

“It is--  _argh_ , you know what I need some air.” Clarke slammed her drink down on a nearby table and pushed out the back doors that lead into the alleyway, Bellamy hot on her heels. 

Bellamy grabbed at her elbow as they stumbled into the narrow street, “Hey! You don’t just get to shove everything that goes wrong with your life on me! I’m not some slacker--”

Bellamy stumbled back at the force of Clarke crashing her mouth onto his and he stood there for a moment frozen. Clarke pulled back quickly and her eyes grew wide. “Oh my god,” she murmured, hand flying to her mouth in surprise. 

A tense moment passed between them and Clarke dropped her hand, Bellamy’s gaze flitted from her eye’s to her lips and before she could say anything else, he grabbed her face roughly and kissed her. The kiss was charged with a million things: frustration, passion, lust, anger. Then Clarke was moaning into his mouth and her nails raked down his back as Bellamy walked them back towards a wall, and the ground seemed to have shifted beneath them. 

Clarke hooked a leg around him, and began to rub vigorously, hand dipping below his waistband to dig into the plump flesh of his ass. Bellamy’s hands were in her hair, getting tangled in the mess of dried paint and sweat-matted curls. She dropped her head back against the brick of the building when Bellamy transitioned to sucking his way down her neck, one hand dropping from her face to palm at her breast beneath her crop top, and the other hooking under the thigh thrown around him and locking them close together. 

“What. Are. We. Doing?” Clarke forced out between the rocking of hips and tongues clashing.

Bellamy just grunted, running his tongue over the shell of her ear as she squirmed.  _ohmygodbellamy._  He nipped at her lobe before speaking, “Does it matter?” His voice was husky and strained and Clarke scraped her nails over his scalp, reveling in the affect she had over him as his eyes rolled back with pleasure. 

Reaching for the zipper of her shorts, Clarke grabbed at his hands, “Wait.”

 _“What?”_ Bellamy growled into the crook of her neck. 

“I'm not fucking you in the  _middle of an alley_.”

“But you’re not against fucking me?” Bellamy pulled back so her could look her in the eyes, furrowing his brow.

Clarke bit her lip, thinking for a moment before shaking her head. Bellamy kissed her hotly and then pulled her from the wall, “My apartment is around the corner,  _princess_.” 


	2. the governing body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bellamy’s hand traveled to her ass, giving it a squeeze as he bit at her chin playfully. A soft giggle vibrated against him and Clarke breathed out, “How far is your apartment?”_

They stumbled their way into Bellamy’s apartment, mouths swollen and clothes in disarray. They had gone back into the rave separately and Bellamy grabbed his shirt and told Miller he was ducking out early. Clarke strode in a slow count-to-ten afterwards and left Roma in charge of the painter’s booth and asked their fellow executive committee member Harper to close things down at the end of the night, promising to return tomorrow for clean-up duty.

Clarke rendezvoused with Bellamy out front and he barely waited until they were around the corner to hook his fingers in her belt loops and pull her flush against him. Teeth knocked together in messy kisses as Clarke dragged her fingers through his hair, tangled with paint. 

Bellamy’s hand traveled to her ass, giving it a squeeze as he bit at her chin playfully. A soft giggle vibrated against him and Clarke breathed out, “How far is your apartment?”

“Next street,” he managed between teasing her earlobe between his teeth and Clarke digging her fingers into his biceps. She mumbled some sort of positive affirmation as they continued this dance down the street, stopping to devour each other roughly every other street light. 

 

* * *

It was a miracle they managed to make it inside fully clothed, and as soon as they stumbled through the door Bellamy was lifting the thin cloth of her crop top over her head and Clarke was toeing off her Converse. 

Without so much as allowing the other a chance to breathe, Bellamy was stripped down to his underwear and Clarke only her panties as her co-officer took a nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue over the hardened peak. 

Clarke was bracing herself on the kitchen counter just inside the apartment and when she felt Bellamy’s erection against her heat as he rolled his hips hard and fast, his mouth licking a stripe down the valley of her breasts. 

Bellamy pulled his head back and looked at Clarke slumped back against the island, her eyes slowly focused back on Bellamy and she let out a soft chuckle.

Bellamy frowned, “What?”

Clarke just laughed louder, “You’ve got,” she swiped her thumb along the corner of his mouth, “orange paint all over your mouth.”

Bellamy mimicked her actions and wiped at his mouth, pulling his hand away to see the orange paint smeared inside his palm. For a moment, they both took in their current state and Clarke tipped her head back laughing full-out. 

“Oh my god,” she wheezed, “there is paint  _everywhere.”_

Bellamy looked at the trail of clothing leading away from the front door and noticed the flakes of paint littering the carpet, groaning as Clarke stood there laughing, breasts bouncing with each vibration. 

Their bodies were now an amalgamation of blues, purples, oranges and greens, barely any skin visible beneath the layer of paint. 

“Dammit Clarke, I  _just_  washed my white sheets,” Bellamy whined, and Clarke’s face shifted into a smug grin. 

Reaching up on her tiptoes, she brought her mouth next to his ear and her hot breath sent shivers through him. “Ever had sex in a shower?”

Bellamy’s jaw dropped, because  _where the hell had this come from?_  This was  _not_  the Clarke he knew. Clarke, who never missed a class lecture unless she had sent someone along with a voice recorder. Clarke, who ironed her  _t-shirts._ Clarke, who had once yelled at Bellamy for spitting his gum into the  _grass_. That Clarke. That Clarke wanted to have sex with him. In his shower. 

Bellamy just moaned in response, grabbing her face and covering her mouth with his own, sucking on her bottom lip. She began to walk them backwards towards the hallway and Bellamy dropped his hands beneath her and hauled her up. Spinning around he lead them blindly down the dark hall before kicking open the door to the bathroom and lowering her to the floor. 

Clarke immediately went for the waistband of his boxer-briefs and shoved them down his hips, releasing his cock from the constricting fabric. Clarke licked her lips, admiring the girth of the man standing proudly before her. Slowly, she dragged her eyes up the planes of his stomach and grinned up at him beneath fluttering eyelashes. Her fingers hooked the flimsy band of her own panties and slid them down her legs, pressing a kiss to his sternum has they hit the floor. 

Bellamy reached over and pulled the shower curtain back. Clarke wrapped a hand around the hard length of his erection, slowly stroking upward as he fumbled with the faucet.  _“Clarke,”_  he growled, 

She just rolled her eyes and side-stepped him to position herself under the steady stream of water. Quirking an eyebrow, she challenged him, “Well?”

 

* * *

Moments later, Clarke’s hands were braced against the cool tile of the shower wall as Bellamy pounded into her from behind. He cupped one breast in his hand, kneading it generously as the other roamed her abdomen. 

Below them, Clarke caught a glimpse of the stream of cloudy, colored water pooling around their feet and trickling down the drain. But Bellamy’s rough fingers found her clit and began to circle it and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, Bellamy’s name falling from her lips. 

She arched her back as the pressure built low in her belly and Bellamy was chanting her name like a prayer as she pushed her pelvis back into him with each frantic thrust. 

Clarke came with a thumb pressed heavily on her clit and Bellamy sucking on the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. She muttered obscenities under her breath as her legs wobbled, Bellamy still pounding into her, chasing his own release. He pulled out suddenly, hand reaching for his cock, rubbing furiously as he came, thick, hot juices dripped down her back as she struggled to control her breathing. 

Bellamy wrapped an arm around Clarke’s chest and pulled her back against him, his free hand massaging into her scalp, loosening the streaks of pink paint that remained in her curls. 

They were a little less paint-stricken, but Clarke turned in his arms and began to scrub at the now-murky designs, lathering soap to wash him clean. Her head rolled back when Bellamy’s hands slid up the slope of her breast, scraping gently at the orange blotches. His head dropped to her shoulder as Clarke reached around, scrubbing at the dimples in his back and lowering her hands to dig into his ass. 

They kissed lazily and Bellamy brought her over the edge again with his fingers, staying in the shower until the hot water ran cool and their skin was prune-y and soft.

* * *

Clarke zipped up her shorts, still stiff with dried paint and her damp curls hung over her shoulder as Bellamy emerged from the bathroom towel-drying his hair, sweatpants hugging his hips. 

She gave him a once over with a sort of resigned sigh, “Okay, well--”

“Are you leaving?”

Clarke squinted at him, “... yes?” 

“No?” Bellamy countered.

Sighing, Clarke pressed a finger to her temple. “This,” she gestured between them, “doesn’t  _work_ in real life, Bellamy. This was just a tension reliever, but who are we kidding if we think it’s not going to lead to us biting each others heads off again.”

“That’s not true,” Bellamy frowned.

“Of course it is!” Clarke tittered, “Because the next thing you know you’re telling me it’s my fault that Pascal doesn’t know to collect Wick’s playlist so we can publish it in the newsletter.”

“You never told me that.”

Clarke’s eyes widened in exasperation, “Yes, I did!” 

Bellamy furrowed his brows and Clarke shook her head, “I told you,  _this_ doesn’t work. We had fun, we let off steam.” She bent down to grab her sweater and shrug it on, “We move on and forget it happened, okay?”

 _No, it’s not fucking okay._  “Yeah, okay. Let me know how that works out for you,  _princess._ ”

Clarke rolled her eyes and grabbed her cell phone from the counter. “I’ll see you Monday, Bellamy.”

The door slammed loudly behind her.

* * *

It didn’t work out for her very long. Clarke was backed up against a bookshelf in the SGA supply closet a week later, keening at the quick work Bellamy made with his tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i'm not sure if it lived up to the hyPE? but leave me a note if you enjoyed it! <3 thanks [courtney](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) for beta'ing part two for me!

**Author's Note:**

> part two will literally just be smut. i mean. honestly.


End file.
